Untitled
by Athena Alexandria
Summary: AU. Rick is reeling from his wife's devastating betrayal when he meets Andrea, a beautiful divorce attorney struggling with a tragedy of her own.
1. Chapter 1

**_Summary: Rick is reeling from the shock of his wife's devastating betrayal when he meets Andrea, a beautiful divorce attorney struggling with a tragedy of her own._**

___I shouldn't be starting another Rickdrea fic when I already have two WIPs, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone. At this stage, I have no plans to include a walker uprising in this story - the only badassery we will be seeing from Andrea is in the courtroom - but I will incorporate the zombie apocalypse later if you guys request it. Also, I'm still working on coming up with a title. Let me know if you have any suggestions!_

* * *

Chapter 1.

PETITION FOR DIVORCE

Rick stared at those words, printed in neat black ink across the top of the page, as if doing so would somehow make this day feel real. He would be lying if he said he hadn't seen it coming. Things between him and Lori had been strained for a while now, culminating in an ugly confrontation in which his soon to be ex-wife had admitted to loving someone else. She refused to tell him who the lucky guy was, though Rick supposed it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she no longer felt that way about him.

What he hadn't anticipated was that she would send Shane, his partner and best friend of more than twenty years, to serve him with the divorce papers without breathing a word of her intentions to him first. Despite his friend's awkward apology, that had come as a bigger blow than the complaint itself. After all, it fell within his jurisdiction as the sheriff's deputy, though he supposed he couldn't exactly serve himself.

He might have granted her the divorce just to get it over with if it wasn't for section 6. She had checked the box stating that she was seeking both temporary and permanent primary legal and physical custody of their only child, Carl. Rick didn't care about the house or the car or the alimony he would no doubt be paying her in near future, but he would be damned if he was going to let her deprive him of time with his son.

That was how he came to find himself sitting alone in the swanky reception area of a law firm in downtown Atlanta, clutching the offending papers as he waited for his name to be called.

Fifteen minutes after he had arrived, a door opened and two women emerged, one a lawyer if her tailored grey pantsuit was any indication, the other a harried-looking mother leading a little girl by the hand.

The lawyer squeezed her client's arm, saying something reassuring to her, before acknowledging the beaten down man in the waiting area. "Rick Grimes?"

Rick wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he chose the firm at random out of the phonebook, but it certainly wasn't the pretty blonde standing in front of him. She couldn't have been more than forty, though he would have placed her age at closer to thirty-five.

"That's right, Ms…?"

"Harrison, but you can call me Andrea," she told him, offering him her hand, which was small and soft, though her grip was unusually firm.

Her voice held no trace of the ubiquitous Southern drawl, he noted with surprise. "You're not from around here," he pointed out, trying to pin down her accent, but all it told him was that she was American.

"No, I'm not," she said simply. He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't.

Instead, her blue-green eyes shifted away, landing on the envelope still clenched in a death grip in his other hand. "Why don't we step into my office, and you can tell me what brings you here?"

* * *

"What exactly are my options here?" Rick asked once he had finished filling Andrea in on the situation. It felt strange, spilling his personal problems out to a complete stranger, but she listened without judgement, wincing sympathetically when he got to the part about Lori's new boyfriend.

"Well," she began, laying the complaint back on her desk and looking up at him, "we could contest it, but you would have to go to court. And even then, you work in a dangerous occupation and you're gone a lot outside of school hours, so there's always the chance the judge would side with the primary caregiver, which in this case is your wife."

"So you think I should just agree to this?" he asked, incredulous. That wasn't the counsel he was seeking.

She leaned back in her chair, regarding him with a thoughtful look. "Not exactly. You said your wife is seeing someone else?" Rick nodded tersely. "So we could file a counter complaint requesting a divorce on the grounds of adultery. It's risky, but it might sway the judge's opinion in your favour."

But that would mean publicly shaming Lori, and Rick wasn't sure he was prepared to do that, to her or Carl. "I'm not asking for primary custody," he explained. This wasn't about vengeance. This was about his son. He deserved to have a relationship with both of his parents. "All I'm asking for is a fair arrangement. Joint custody."

"Then my suggestion to you is that you talk to your wife," Andrea told him, sliding the papers back over to him. "See if you can hash out a private agreement before this winds up in court, because I guarantee you, Rick, that if it does, things will get messy, for you, and your son."

"That's it?" Three hundred dollars an hour and that was her advice? Talk to his wife?

"For now," she agreed. She pushed her chair back and stood, and sensing that the meeting was over, Rick followed suit. "The first consultation is free. If you're lucky, you won't need a second. But if you do, you know where to find me."

Rick thanked her politely, and she walked him to the door, where they shook hands again.

"Good luck, Rick," she told him sincerely, letting her hand linger in his for just a moment. "I really hope I never have to see you again."


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm on annual leave at the moment, so since I haven't quite grasped the concept of relaxation, you guys get another chapter..._

* * *

Chapter 2.

Around noon, Andrea's best friend and partner at the firm, Michonne, sauntered into her office carrying a cardboard coffee tray and a take out bag from the café next door.

"How did your meeting with that new client go?" she asked, putting the food down on the desk, and plonking herself into one of the visitor's chairs.

Andrea closed the case file she was reviewing, and reached for the paper cup Michonne offered her. "Oh, you know," she said, taking a measured sip to test how hot it was, "another day, another desperate husband suing his wife for custody. Makes you wonder why anyone even bothers get to married."

"Careful, you're starting to sound like a divorce attorney," Michonne teased her, unwrapping her sandwich. "Before you know it, you'll be cynical like me."

Divorce law was far from Andrea's first choice when it came to choosing a specialisation in grad school. In fact, for most of her career, she had worked as a civil rights lawyer in her hometown back in Florida. She didn't know how Michonne had been able to stand trawling through other people's dirty laundry on a daily basis for as long as she had, but then her friend had always been a pragmatist, while Andrea herself was an incurable idealist.

"You should have seen the guy, Mich. His wife is leaving him for someone else and she still wants primary custody of their kid."

Andrea sighed, thinking of the defeated look on Rick Grimes's face when she told him he might have to take his cheating wife to court. At moments like that, she really hated her job. It was easier going after faceless corporations than someone her client had once vowed to love and honour for the rest of his or her life. As a civil rights attorney, she never had any guilt about winning a case, whereas these days, she felt like she was drowning in it.

Maybe this is my punishment, she mused darkly.

"Was he cute?"

"The kid?" Andrea asked, still distracted by these thoughts.

"The guy."

Andrea froze with her coffee cup halfway to her mouth, gaping at her best friend in horror. "Michonne!"

"What? It's a fair question."

Andrea finished her sip to bide herself some time before answering. "Fine," she agreed when Michonne continued to look at her expectantly, doing her best to sound indignant. "Okay, yes, he was cute in that broken, 'I will never trust a woman again' kind of way." She met a lot of those guys in her current line of work. It seemed as if the world was full of them.

"I bet you could change his mind," her friend told her with a wicked smirk.

Andrea rolled her eyes. "He's a client, Michonne."

"Fair enough," Michonne agreed seriously, "but what about Allen? You two seemed to get along pretty well that night the four of us went out to dinner."

Not this again. "You know I love you, Mich, but I don't need you to keep fixing me up."

"No, you'd rather live like a nun for the rest of your life," Michonne retorted. "What happened to Amy wasn't your fault, Andrea."

"I know that," Andrea insisted, even though deep down she still wondered if there was something more she could have done. Maybe if she had done something differently, her sister would still be alive.

Michonne's voice softened. "So maybe it's time you started believing it."

* * *

"You wanna explain this?" Rick said, slapping the envelope Shane had served him with down on the kitchen bench in front of Lori. He had planned out what he was going to say on the drive over, but now that he was here, all that came out was anger.

Lori put down the knife she was using to chop vegetables for dinner. "You got the papers," she said without looking at him.

"Of course I got the papers, Lori. What I don't understand is why you didn't talk to me first. Can't we just take some time to figure things out?"

"I'm pregnant," she whispered.

Rick's first reaction was that he must have misheard her. She couldn't be pregnant: they'd tried for years after Carl without success, before deciding that one would have to be enough. "Is it…?"

She whirled around to face him then. "How could it be, Rick? We haven't touched each other like that in months."

Everything slid into place then. No wonder she was in such a rush to get rid of him. "Who is he? This guy you've been seeing?"

"Rick…"

"I want the truth this time, Lori," he insisted. "You owe me that much, at least."

She turned back towards the counter, gripping the edge for support, her shoulders hunched in resignation. "It's Shane."

"Shane who?" Rick asked stupidly.

"Shane," she repeated, her face crumpling with misery, and this time there could be no mistaking her meaning.

Rick felt as though someone had sucker punched him in the gut. All of a sudden, he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. "_Shane_? Of all the men in the world, you had to pick my best friend?" Part of him wished he had just left it alone, but it was too late to unring that bell now.

"Rick, I'm sorry," she said, reaching for him instinctively, but he ripped his arm away, pushing past her to the door. "Where are you going?" she asked tearfully, a note of hysteria rising in her voice.

Rick had the vague notion that he was going to hunt the bastard down and kill him. He had never shot anyone before, not even while he was on patrol, but he thought he could make an exception for the man who had impregnated his wife.

But first, he needed a couple of gallons of liquid courage…

* * *

Michonne left the office at six to meet her boyfriend, Tyreese, for dinner, while Andrea opted to stay behind to finish up some paperwork. It was nothing that couldn't wait until the next morning, but she was in no hurry to get home to her empty apartment, and another night of silent reflection on all of the things she would rather not think about. Like Amy's death, and her part in it.

She had isolated herself so successfully since relocating to Atlanta that Michonne was her only friend, which was why she was stunned when the phone rang around eight. She knew it couldn't be her parents, who had barely acknowledged her existence since the accident, which only left her best friend.

She was probably calling to tell her to go home and get some sleep, Andrea thought with a wry smile, picking up the receiver.

But it wasn't Michonne.

"Andrea?" a male voice asked. "It's Rick. Rick Grimes."

"Hi," she greeted him, trying to mask her confusion. It was highly unusual for a client to be calling so late. "I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon. Did you talk to your wife?"

"Yeah," he agreed with a humourless chuckle.

"I take it the conversation didn't go well?"

"That would be an understatement."

She flipped the page of her diary. "I have some time tomorrow after—"

"She's pregnant," he broke in.

He didn't sound happy about it. Andrea couldn't say she blamed him under the circumstances. It added an extra layer of complication to his already potentially nasty divorce. "Congratulations, I guess. Does that mean you'll be petitioning for joint custody of the baby, too?"

"Oh, I'm not the father," he corrected her. "That would be _Shane_."

Something was off. This wasn't the same reticent, almost apologetic man she had met in her office that morning. She sensed that that man would never call her outside office hours unless he was in a bad way. "Are you okay, Rick? You sound a little…"

"Drunk?"

"I was going to go with 'upset', but yeah." There was an unmistakable slur in his voice.

"I believe the word is 'shit-faced'."

She could hear music, and people talking loudly in the background. It sounded like he was still at the bar. "Where are you? Is there someone I can call to pick you up?"

"My wife is screwing my best friend, so I think it's safe to say no one's coming."

"I'll come," she blurted out before she could stop and think about what she was offering. She wasn't sure why she had said it when she barely knew him, other than that something in her related to his predicament. With the exception of Michonne, she didn't have anyone either.

"No, I've taken up enough of your time," he argued, but she was already digging in her purse for her keys. "I shouldn't have called you. You probably have your own family to be getting home to, a beautiful woman like you."

"Forget about that, Rick," she said, keeping the phone pressed against her ear with her shoulder as she gathered her belongings. "You shouldn't be alone right now. Tell me where you are, and I promise I'll be there as soon as I can."


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm not sure what the distance between King's County and Atlanta is meant to be on the show, but considering Rick was able to ride there on horseback, AND get stuck in a tank AND and a department store for a while, AND travel out to the base camp at the quarry all in one day, I'm guessing it's not far... Then again sometimes it takes like an hour to walk from Woodbury to the prison, and sometimes it takes a whole day. ;)_

* * *

Chapter 3.

Andrea pushed through a set of saloon doors, and was instantly blasted with country music, pouring from a jukebox in the darkened corner by the restrooms. Scanning the patrons – were those men actually wearing cowboy hats? And not ironically? – , she spotted Rick slumped over the bar, staring morosely into the depths of his glass.

He glanced up at her briefly when her shadow fell over him. "Sit down," he told her, raising his empty glass to signal to the bartender that he was ready for a refill. "Have a drink. I'm buying."

His condition had deteriorated since she spoke to him on the phone. A few more glasses and he wouldn't even be able to stand up on his own. "Don't you think maybe you've had enough?" she asked him gently.

"There's not enough whiskey in the world to make me forget what I just heard," he argued stubbornly, lowering his glass once he had the bartender's attention, and she felt her heart go out to him.

"One drink," she conceded, shrugging out of her suit jacket and climbing onto the stool next to his, "but then I'm taking you home."

He eyed her sidelong. "That's kind of forward of you, don't you think?" he asked, flashing her an impish grin.

She knew he was being funny, but she forced her face into a stern expression. "To _your_ home."

The bartender came over to top up his drink, and she ordered a glass of sauvignon.

"That's if Shane hasn't already moved in," Rick said once the man was out of earshot again.

Andrea thought back to what he had told her on the phone. "Your best friend, huh? That must be rough."

"Losing your job is rough. Finding out that your wife is cheating on you is rough. This is…"

"Excruciating," she finished for him. She tried to imagine the same thing happening with Michonne, and to her relief, realised that she couldn't. "Are you sure there isn't anyone I can call? Mom? Dad? Brother? Sister?" Her voice broke on the last word, but fortunately he was too busy drowning his own sorrows to take note of hers.

"Shane and Lori are the only family I have besides Carl."

She remembered seeing that name on the divorce papers, in the section on minor children. "That's your little boy?" she asked, hoping to get him off the subject of his wife's affair and onto a more pleasant topic.

"Yeah, only he's not such a little boy anymore. More like twelve, going on twenty." He regarded her with interest for the first time since her arrival. "What about you? You got any kids?"

She shook her head.

"Husband? Boyfriend?"

"Nope," she admitted, sipping her drink. "It's just me."

"That explains what you're doing sitting in a bar at ten o'clock on a work night, comforting a complete stranger," he teased her.

She decided to take this as an opening. "Why did you call me, Rick?" she asked, fidgeting with the stem of her wineglass. "I'm not your girlfriend. I'm not even really your friend."

He shrugged. "You're the only one who knows about Lori," he said simply.

"I guess that's as good a reason as any," she agreed, swallowing the dregs of her wine.

She pushed the empty glass aside, and reached over, placing her hand on top of his where it rested on the bar. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, Rick, but you'll get through this," she said, squeezing his fingers.

He looked up at her, his eyes suddenly lucid. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because you have to. Your son is counting on you."

* * *

"This is yours?" Rick asked, watching Andrea unlock a sensible silver Prius. He had sobered up a little, enough to walk to the car unaided. "It's nice."

She thought wistfully of sleek black Mercedes she had owned back in Florida. "You should have seen the one I had before," she told him. "Now _that_ was a nice car."

"So why did you get rid of it?"

Her mind was filled with a flash of blinding light, followed by the screech of metal as it folded in on itself.

She shoved the nightmarish memory aside, pretending not to have heard him as she slid into the driver's seat. "Where do you live?"

He gave her his address and she programmed it carefully into her GPS.

They drove the few blocks in silence, him with his eyes closed, leaning his head against the window, while she concentrated on following the sat nav's directions.

"Is this it?" she asked, pulling up in front of a pretty blue and white house with a wide porch, and a neatly trimmed lawn. It was exactly the kind of house she pictured a hard-working blue-collar family man like him living in; the very antithesis of her own expensive yet soulless city apartment.

"Yeah." He retrieved a thick wad of bills out of his pocket. "Here," he said, pressing them into her palm.

She looked from her hand, back up to him. "What's this?"

"Your consultation fee."

She had almost forgotten the circumstances of their first meeting. "I don't want your money, Rick," she told him, returning it to him.

"Then what _do_ you want?" he asked, pocketing them again. It wasn't an accusation, but a genuine question.

Her face grew hot as she considered her answer. The truth was, she had no idea. Yes, he had made the first move by calling her, but she was under no obligation to show up like she did.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home safely," she answered finally. She glanced towards the house, where his wife was no doubt waiting up for him. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I have to be. Isn't that what you said?" He glanced over at her with a small, strained smile.

"Come by my office tomorrow around two and we can talk about your case," she offered. "If you're not too hung-over, that is."

She reached across the console and gave his hand another light squeeze. "I won't let you lose your son."

This time, his smile was genuine. "Thank you."

For a moment they just studied each other in silence, neither of them sure what else to say.

That was, until he cleared his throat. "Goodnight, Andrea," he told her, climbing out of the car abruptly, and seconds later he was gone.

* * *

"I thought you said he was just a client?" Michonne repeated the next morning when Andrea related her adventure over coffee in the firm's tiny kitchen.

"He _is_ a client, Michonne," Andrea assured her defensively. Her friend's reaction was making her wish she hadn't said anything.

"Do you always meet your clients in bars? Because I sure don't."

"He needed someone to talk to, so we talked. It's not like I slept with him," Andrea insisted, even though thinking back to that fleeting moment in the car where something _might_ have happened if Rick hadn't taken his leave, she couldn't help wondering if she hadn't already crossed some invisible line. She knew she should pass the case over to Michonne, and yet something stopped her.

"Anyway, aren't you the one who's always telling me I need to get out more?"

"You know that's not what I meant," Michonne complained. "How much do you really know about this guy anyway? For all you know, he could be a rapist or a serial killer or something."

Andrea laughed at the idea of Rick harming anyone when he couldn't even seem to find it in himself to be genuinely angry at his wife. "He's not a serial killer, Mich. He's just a guy who's going through a hard time. And I'm helping him with it, that's all."

"It's a slippery slope, Andrea," Michonne warned her. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'll be careful, Mich, I promise," Andrea assured her. She grinned. "I won't go out to any more bars with him."

But Michonne was still frowning. "That's not what I'm worried about."


End file.
